Prerogative of the Brave
by Jaicoon
Summary: “Granger, they’re after muggles,” I pointed out. She stared back at me evenly. My chest squeezed tight in my irritation. Death Eaters would be passing through here after ransacking the World Cup, my father coming to meet me. I had to get her out of here.


Once upon a time, when I still saw Draco Malfoy as having flobberworms for guts, I had an eyebrow-raising moment while reading _Goblet of Fire_ for the first time. Draco did a mighty peculiar thing in chapter nine. After the Quidditch World Cup, our Golden Trio runs into Draco Malfoy in the woods and gets warned (warned!) to get moving and keep Hermione safely out of sight. Excuse me? A little too much running at the mouth, Dr. Evil. You're giving away helpful advice here. That scene stayed stuck in my mind, and until the final book came out, I was actually secretly convinced this was foreshadowing for _something_. When I later developed into a Dracophiliac, his behavior began to make sense.

Consider this story disclaimed as Rowling's material. For the sake of nerdiness and accuracy, the excerpt I wrote this around can be found on pages 121-123 in GOF.

* * *

_"A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave." --Mohandas Gandhi_

* * *

I squinted against the rush of flames billowing up just past the tree line. It wasn't too bright for my eyes; it was instinct. The same sort of instinct that said to stay an extra distance away from harmful beasts, to not stand too close to the edge of great heights, and that to take unnecessary risks isn't worth the cheap thrill. Pointless sacrifice was absurd.

People were blundering all around me through the forest. Silent and still, I went unnoticed. My father and the others would be coming for me soon. Somewhere in the burning camp in front of me, a shriek went up amongst the panicked yelling and I frowned. Torture. Now, there was a question to ask: Did my father invest in the immediate passion or the long-term profit? My aunt Bellatrix was an exemplary debacle of uncontrolled appetite. In this political revolution, was my family being swept up into the bloodlust?

I startled at the sound of a pained yell only a few yards in front of me, but I couldn't see anything in the murky shadows. Spots of color still swam in front of my eyes from watching the fires. The sound of hurried footsteps came closer, coming from behind and crossing in front of me, and a familiar voice caught my ear. I tensed. What was she doing out here?

"Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid – _lumos_!"

Her wand lit up, revealing the Weasley boy flat on his stomach where he'd landed hard on the forest floor. I snorted quietly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Tripped over a tree root," he muttered defensively, quickly standing up and wiping off the leaves and muck. There were wet splotches on his knees. So unkempt, the Weasleys.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," I drawled.

Weasley whipped around, nostrils flaring in surprise. Potter pulled out his wand as he and Hermione Granger turned toward me.

"Stick it up your arse, Malfoy," Weasley blustered.

I let my face betray my thoughts, could feel the smile reaching my eyes. With blood traitors, there was no need for polite subtleties.

"Language, Weasley. Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now?" I took a quick glance at Hermione. She was looking at me, motionless and defiant. "You wouldn't like _her_ spotted, would you?" I risked adding, tossing a nod at Hermione. Immediately, a spell exploded in the distant campground. The deep sound reverberated in my chest and green light flashed brilliantly, lighting up the forest around us for a heartbeat.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione challenged, bringing my attention back to her.

"Granger, they're after _muggles_," I pointed out. She stared back at me evenly. She looked delicate and fierce. My chest squeezed tight in my irritation. The Death Eaters would be passing through here, my father coming to meet me. "D'you want to be showing your knickers in midair?" I snapped. "Because if you do, hang around." I paused, just a moment, before I warned, "They're moving this way." I ended lamely, "And it would give us all a laugh." I glared at Hermione. This was not the time to be a stubborn know-it-all.

"Hermione's a witch," Potter butted in, taking offense.

Damn her. Damn the whole lot. "Have it your way, Potter," I said, smiling in what felt like a snarl. "If you think they can't spot a mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!" Weasley barked out viciously.

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione said calmly, reaching out to grasp Weasley's arm before he could charge forward. He seemed to slump under her hand, as if physical contact alone was enough for her to drain the fight out of him. I grimaced. Her connection to him rubbed me wrong.

Another boom of sound, louder than the explosions before, came from the flaming campsite just beyond the trees. People scurrying past us let out startled screams. I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"Scare easily, don't they?" I murmured, a half-smile on my lips as I watched the shadowy figures disappear into the darkness. I turned back to Weasley. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to? Trying to rescue muggles?"

"Where're _your_ parents?" Potter bit out. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"

I looked over at him, the smile still masking my face. If he only knew. "Well… if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

"Oh, come on," Hermione said, casting a foul look in my direction, "let's go find the others."

_Thank Merlin_. "Keep that big, bushy head down, Granger," I snarled after her, my gut fluttery with anxiety.

"Come _on_," she repeated, tugging on Weasley's arm that she'd still had her hand on. Hermione motioned with her illuminated wand, herding Weasley and Potter back toward the path. Potter looked back over his shoulder at me as he followed, maybe expecting me to pull my wand on them. Their footsteps were loud on the thick floor of dead leaves and crackly twigs, and then became nearly silent as they reached the bare dirt path.

As they hurried away, I could hear Weasley loudly whisper, "I'll bet you anything his dad _is_ one of that masked lot!"

I let the air sigh out of me, slumping back against the tree I'd been leaning against. I tipped my head up and stared blankly at the clouds stretched in thin, cottony strips across the sky. Oddly, it made the stars look faded in places. This felt surreal. This wasn't my life, my situation. No yelling in the distance, no crunch of desperate footsteps around me, no gusting sound of fire billowing up into the night air. No naïve girl out there pretending to be invulnerable. Hell. I knocked my head back against the tree, crossing my arms tighter in front of me. I hoped Potter wasn't trying anything stupidly heroic and getting Granger caught in the crossfire.

"Draco."

I quickly straightened up, stepping away from the tree and dropping my arms to my sides. Several Death Eaters stood behind my father, though no one was wearing their hooded cloaks or masks. They wouldn't be seen with me if they were.

"Father," I politely acknowledged, bowing my head.

"We haven't kept you waiting long?"

"Not at all," I responded as was appropriate, stepping closer.

Maybe it was the formalities, but I unexpectedly had the urge to laugh. I wasn't exchanging pleasantries in the middle of a dark, cold forest. My family wasn't involved in political intrigue. And my father hadn't just enjoyed the cheap thrills of it.

"Has anyone important come this way?" he asked absent-mindedly, glancing to his left up at the sky, seeing if _morsmordre_ had been cast yet.

The unused laughter caught tight in my throat. The Boy Who Lived. Along with Weasley, a blood traitor. And Hermione Granger, a mudblood -- practically a muggle using magic. Just a naïve girl pretending to be invulnerable. And I'd never been one for cheap thrills.

"No, no one we should follow tonight."

I've never been one for pointless sacrifice, either.


End file.
